


Idle Hands and Idle Thoughts

by luftballons



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftballons/pseuds/luftballons
Summary: Sometimes Hythlodaeus's thoughts wander, for all he tries to keep them from getting too out of hand. And sometimes, the only thing for that is talking about them with the man you desire.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	Idle Hands and Idle Thoughts

They were supposed to value uniformity above all. And Hythlodaeus does, really, in his heart. But there were times that places other than his heart were roused by their differences. Perhaps it is an affliction of seeing things so differently than everyone else. For a cowl alone could not their differences hide to his eyes. And so perhaps as a result he was always meant to be taken by the beauty of differences, even so contrary to their society though it might be.

But the sight that he’s currently enthralled by is not just a question of aether. It is his friend, his beautiful, powerful friend who weaves magicks better than anyone he knows. And even in this form, different though it may be, he can see the concentration on his face as he works. Hythlodaeus’s lips part and he draws in a breath as his eyes move about the surface of his friend’s true form. He’s glad the creature holds his friend’s attention so well. What color would his aether be to his eye, all rapt with fervent desire? The thought is enough to color him with embarrassment.

Hythlodaeus knows, too, that Hades would deny him if he asked. He would make excuses, tell him that it expended too much aether to keep the shape for too long. But Hythlodaeus knows well that is a lie. He can see it when he transforms; it is this form that struggles and claws its way to be free. He expends more aether keeping it at bay.

No, the truth is that Hades would be afraid to break him. It is a tired routine. Hades loves too much, is too afraid to treat him like he’s anything more than glass, like one wrong move might shatter all that they have. Sure, he plays at being mad at him. They jest and joke and Hades acts the long-suffering counterpart to his ever-present enthusiasm. But Hythlodaeus knows it for what it is. Knows Hades who for who he is. Far too kind a soul. Far too scared. It’s no wonder he empathizes with his creature.

Would that he could only remind him that he is powerful in his own way. That he need not be protected, that he would gladly, _gladly_ be ravaged by his claws and fangs and split in two by his undoubtedly exquisite member. A shiver runs down Hythlodaeus’s spine as he forgets himself. Would his friend think him beautiful, if he worshiped it with his tongue? Wanton, needy? Would he marvel as he misused his magicks to accommodate him, bending his body, reshaping it enough—and only just _enough—_ to take him inside? Would the size of it show in the curve of his abdomen and if he touched it, would Hades feel it?

“ _Hythlodaeus_!”

He realizes it is not the first Hades has said his name, but the first he has heard of it. His eyes blink, bringing him back into focus. He licks his dry lips and tries not to think about the growing necessity between his legs to think, yes, to focus, on whatever it was that Hades asks of him now.

“Mm?” Is all he manages, trying to keep his traitorous voice from betraying the desire caught so tight in his throat. Could Hades see it? What did his aether look like now?

“I said,” Hades continues. If he sees, he does not say, “that it is finished.”

Hythlodaeus looks from Hades to the creation, quiet now that its soul has been shepherded beyond. “Thanks,” he says, proud of himself for how natural the word is. How strange, to have a singular word take so very much effort.

For a moment Hades says nothing, and Hythlodaeus thinks he has survived this conversation unscathed. Hades returns to his usual form, so that they see eye to eye, or at least mask to mask.

“Is something wrong?” Hades asks.

Hythlodaeus swallows thickly. He notes, rather alarmingly, that Hades’s scrutiny only serves to increase his arousal not dampen it, spurred on by this secret he must keep from the other man. “No,” he says, though he is not sure he says it like he truly believes it. “Thank you again.”

“Curious…” Hades muses, looking him over. The way he does, moving so that he strays just a little from his hood, brilliant white hair showing from underneath. Hythlodaeus quite likes the way he keeps it cut, too. “You’re not generally in the habit of lying to me.”

“Lying?” Hythlodaeus repeats the accusation as if the incredulity in his tone might render it absurd.

Hades just waves his hand, “Don’t be coy,” he says, like it’s so easy. Like it would be easy for Hythlodaeus to just bare his soul.

Well, metaphorically, anyway. His literal soul is bare before him, always. If he sees it clearly, why does he not just say? Does he enjoy this, backing him into a proverbial corner? Forcing him to say it clear between them?

The thought of being backed into a corner isn’t helping at all, of course. And he thinks again of that form that had just been before him, of those hands holding him down and forcing him to speak. Would he make him say aloud all of the things he is not supposed to want? Tear them from his throat and coax them from his tongue? What would it feel like, for Hades to listen as he told him all of the dirty, awful things he’d have him do? How shocked his friend would be, and yet, how wanting? He would put each thought to the test, and they would experiment long into the night with all the powers of creation. Perhaps Hades could put his hands around his blasphemous throat and hold, choke him until they can only speak using the language of their souls, where there is no chance to lie.

Hythlodaeus realizes he is sweating, far, far too warm under his robes.

“I…” Hythlodaeus starts, but his mouth is far too dry to form words, and Hades is still staring at him expectantly. It just only the two of them, here, in the restricted part of the Bureau. Oh, it would be highly unprofessional to do anything about his unrelenting need here, but at the same time, who would know? And to whom would they complain? He doubts very much that anyone would bring the matter to the Convocation. “I am just humbled by your power.”

“Humbled,” Hades repeats, like he does not believe it for a second, his eyes moving lower for a moment before returning to Hythlodaeus’s face.

Hythlodaeus is certain that even his hood and mask cannot hide the blush that breaks out when he watches Hades’s eyes travel so. He swallows thickly, “Perhaps that isn’t the right word.”

“Will you tell me?” Hades asks, and for a moment he starts and then stops, thinking on how he wants to phrase whatever he intends to follow that with, finally landing on, “Though I can see your aether just fine, I’ve no wish to act on if it is at odds with your mind.”

“At odds?” Hythlodaeus responds, too quickly, “No, no, not at all! I do not keep them from you because I do not _want_ them,” he assures him, practically tripping over himself to do so, “I had only thought...well, I didn’t want to surprise you with my forwardness.”

But rather than chide him, Hades laughs, “Surprise me? And would you next surprise me with the color of the night sky?”

“N-no!” Hythlodaeus colors with indignance. If his friend had known all of this time, why did he torture him so by saying nothing? Had he really been concerned that he didn’t actually want to act on these things? Of course he was, that absolute fool. “If you knew all of this time you should have said! It would’ve saved me a great deal of pining.”

“What was it that you said before?” Hades asks tapping his finger against his own lips in thought, “ah yes, that you prefer to see things for their own sake rather than finding practical use? I assumed your infatuation was much of the same.”

“It isn’t infatuation, and you know that too.” Hythlodaeus glares at him, annoyed that he would make it seem so childish.

“ _Arousal_ , then, if you truly prefer me to name it.” Hades raises his arms in a shrug and shakes his head. “Though I can’t imagine why.”

“Lock the door,” Hythlodaeus says, instead of replying.

“What?” Hades asks, like he hasn’t heard him quite right.

“Lock the door, and I will tell you why.”

Hades snaps his fingers and the door locks. He drops his hood and pulls off his mask so that Hythlodaeus has to really look at him while he says it. With a sigh, Hythlodaeus does the same, baring himself for his friend.

“I _like_ that form, if you must know,” he starts, forcing himself to meet Hades’s eyes, beautiful and attentive as they are now. Hades, cautiously, begins to listen, unsure of where Hythlodaeus is going to take this. But Hythlodaeus does not want him to have caution. Caution has no place at all in what he wants. Which means, of course, he has to let go of his own. “More than just like it, I confess. I may have treated this less than professionally.”

Hythlodaeus steps closer, removing the space between them. He takes Hades’s hand and brings it to his groin, allowing him to feel his keen interest. Hades’s eyes widen and his lips part “Hythlodaeus—” but Hythlodaeus speaks before he can finish whatever protest might be coming.

“My mind wanders, from time to time. Creativity does not confine itself only to neat objectives, it does not ask when it should be viable. And my friend, I...when it comes to you, my imagination is not content to simply watch in silence.”

Hades’s hand moves, parting his robes and Hythlodaeus draws in a breath. Deft fingers find their way to curl around him, teasing presses into needing flesh. “Tell me,” Hades says, but he barely breathes it.

“Oh, I’m not certain I would survive the experience,” Hythlodaeus responds, barely holding back a whine.

“If only you knew someone who could keep your soul from falling too far afield,” Hades responds, a spark to his eye that Hythlodaeus knows is equal parts mischief and desire.

“If only…” Hythlodaeus laughs, breathlessly, “Ah, well, I suppose if you’ll catch me when I fall, I am fully out of excuses.”

“Indeed, you were out of excuses long ago.”

Hades’s fingers make it hard to concentrate on anything, though, maddeningly slow though they are as they massage him. Each touch new and different than the last, leaving him unable to truly get used to it. Of course, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I want…to pleasure you, when you’re like that. When you stop holding back and become one with all of that power,” Hythlodaeus begins, worrying at his lower lip as he decides if he wants to continue. But Hades is watching him intently. Hades seems to truly want to know. “You’ve still...I suppose you must still have—”

“Yes, yes,” Hades responds dismissively, saving Hythlodaeus the awkward stumbling, not quite knowing how to ask him if that form still has a cock. Hades, too, it seems, has decided there is no room for caution in this conversation.

“Would you let me?” Hythlodaeus asks, forging ahead, his breathing becoming heavier. He reaches over, one hand on Hades’s bicep to steady himself, feeling the strong muscle move as his hand continues to work him over. “I could please you with my tongue and with my lips. Like a ritual— _oh—_ can you imagine?”

Hades looks pleased that he’s able to break Hythlodaeus’s concentration so. His lips turn into a smirk but he says nothing, waiting for Hythlodaeus to continue instead, squeezing him now, turning his wrist to touch him just so.

“I can imagine it,” Hythlodaeus continues, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in deep to center himself. “How proportional everything must be. How small in comparison I would seem, and yet you would find me ever so willing, ever so wanting. A devotee, even. Would you care for the sight?”

“Yes, very much so,” Hades responds. He leans forward and kisses Hythlodaeus’s neck, biting lightly. Not enough to leave a mark, but just enough to leave a memory of the touch in its wake. “Is that what you like, then? That difference?”

“Mmhm,” Hythlodaeus hums, baring his neck for his friend. Vaguely, he wonders if he should do more than lamely stand here. If his fingers too should try and touch, but he makes no attempt to do so.

“How beautiful you would be,” Hades says for him, a reprieve from having to speak when he’s starting to give into how good he feels, “your delicate mouth, unable to take it all. It is as you said, you would have to pleasure it with lips and with tongue. You would have to work twice as hard, wouldn’t you? But you’re always diligent, Hythlodaeus.”

“I’ll be so diligent for you,” Hythlodaeus moans, hips shifting up into Hades’s hand, “I’ll lavish you with my attention; take care of you as you should be taken care of.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Will it warm you, to know how I watch you? To see how I grow at the sight?” Hades asks, pulling through every long stroke now, but agonizingly slow, “That I enjoy such an obscene view? Will you beg for me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Hythlodaeus replies, practically begging now, “I’ll beg until you agree to let me have it.”

“Inside of you?” Hades asks and Hythlodaeus is pleased to hear that even Hades sounds like it’s starting to get to him, too. “All of it?”

“All of it,” Hythlodaeus nods, “every last ilm, please, I want it so bad. I’d take it, I’d make myself take it.”

Hades bites his neck harder now, his hand moving faster along his skin, forgetting himself and forgetting that he shouldn’t leave a mark on him. “Every ilm,” Hades repeats, almost as enthralled as Hythlodaeus. With his free hand he takes Hythlodaeus’s hand and guides it to his body. “Don’t hold out on me,” he complains, but his heart isn’t in it.

Hythlodaeus opens his eyes and does his best, but his fingers fumble, shaking with anticipation. Hades’s aether burns with the same desire he feels in his gut. It’s reassuring in some ways, of course, but mostly it just makes his own burn brighter.

“Impale me on it,” Hythlodaeus pleads, his fingers finally finding their way to wrap around Hades’s cock. Hades sighs happily, and Hythlodaeus doesn’t think he’s ever heard a better sound.

“Violent now too, on top of everything else,” Hades laughs, but his laughter can’t hide how much he clearly likes the idea from Hythlodaeus. “What if someone heard you,” Hades continues, “whatever would they think?”

“I don’t—I don’t care,” Hythlodaeus’s voice is barely a whine now, finding it difficult to talk and to touch Hades at the same time. He knows he isn’t doing a very good job of it, but Hades doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. The words themselves seem to be all he needs, “All that matters is what you think. Hades, tell me—tell me, do you hate me for it?”

“Hate you?” Hades asks, incredulously. He shakes his head, “How could you misunderstand me so much when your sight is better than mine? Can’t you see what it does to me? Can’t you— _ah_ , there, like that—” Hades hands never falter, though, even when he asks Hythlodaeus for more.

“Everywhere, I want to feel you everywhere,” Hythlodaeus cries, losing coherency to the overwhelming feeling of his touch.

But Hades is figuring him out, too quickly perhaps, or maybe they are more alike than Hythlodaeus thought. “Filled until you’re fit to burst,” he whispers, close to Hythlodaeus’s ear, “melding your form to fit me me perfectly. Who knew the mind of an architect could be used for such dirty things? All power of creation at your fingertips and this— _this—_ is is what you want to use it on.”

Hythlodaeus knows Hades says these things because he can see and feel what it does to him to hear them. How he wants to be admonished, how he wants to be told that it’s wrong. His body shivers and shakes, close to the edge and getting closer with every word more that’s shared between them.

“Please, Hades.”

Hades kisses his lips, like they’re lovers. He drinks him deep and holds him close. And when he pulls away he says softly, “You’re the only one I would trust to take it.”

Hythlodaeus spills into his hand at the glowing praise, teetering forward to rest his head against Hades’s shoulder and lean against his warm body. He keeps touching him, unwavering in his resolve to bring him to the same conclusion.

“Please let me,” he whispers against Hades’s skin, his eyes fixed on his face to take in his features when he reaches his climax. It’s every bit as beautiful as he imagined, and yet more still, his aether dancing wildly, the color of it shining in hues he’s never before seen.

“Maybe,” Hades says, breathing hard but still supporting Hythlodaeus, “maybe one day.”

Hythlodaeus sighs happily and kisses his neck. Hades was never one for straight answers or assurances. But he hadn’t told him no, and more importantly, the thought clearly didn’t scare him off. Hythlodaeus watches, transfixed as their aether mingles, content and sated for the time being. He would find a way on to Hades’s giant, magnificent cock one day. And in the meantime, he’d have pleasant thoughts to fill lonely nights.


End file.
